


The Dark Knight Begs

by The_Malevolent_Mountain_Queen



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, BDSM Vibes, Drunk Sex, M/M, Oneshot, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, alternating povs, dom!Mark, dubcon, masturbation mention, serious SERIOUS dubcon, sub!Damien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 03:48:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19985596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Malevolent_Mountain_Queen/pseuds/The_Malevolent_Mountain_Queen
Summary: Mark makes a mistake, as one does when they go out with a college student and her friends. Damien doesn't mind.





	The Dark Knight Begs

**Author's Note:**

> To put it simply, this thing is messy, and hot, and pretty fucked up. Enjoy.

God. What the fuck was he thinking? 

No. He was right in trusting Sam. Wasn’t he? 

But she just… She just did _that._ To _him_. The one she was always talking about protecting and rescuing and all of that other fairytale shit. 

Knights and Dragons. The big metaphor. The one goddamn thing that had been remotely steady in their relationship. 

The one thing that had been truly holding them together. 

No, that was going too far. He knew she loved him. But was it really in the way that he’d thought? Everyone has their fuckups. But wasn’t this just too far over the line? No. Yes? He hated when his head became this fuzzy. 

But it would have been worse had he managed to stay the entire night with the Atkinsons. Thoughts, predictions, and being repeatedly being sucked into his own brain to invade the minds of others in their sleep? Sounded like Sam’s definition of “fun.” 

No. He couldn’t think like that. 

The whiskey shots had basically worn off by now, but the midnight buzz wasn’t finished with him yet. 

Its scent filled the air, and he felt his tongue lick the inside of his teeth desperately. He needed another. Just one more. Then he would just walk back to their place and sleep it off. 

It was good that the place he had met Rose at was only seven blocks away. Wouldn’t want to steal their car. 

Not that he would actually do that. He wasn’t _that_ stupid. 

The manager was about to lock the doors when he first spotted her. 

“Wait! Wait, _hold_ on!” 

She gave him a worried, quizzical look and tried moving faster to her car with a paper bag… with two enormous bottles inside. 

“Wait, seriously, just give me a second!” 

“Sir? You need to go home.” 

“Why? You were only just now about to close, right?” 

“...Yes, but-!” 

“Ah, ah, ah! No buts! C’mon, lemme just buy one more. How much can this buy?” 

“Sir, that’s a fifty-dollar bill.” 

“Perfect! I’ll take however… many of those thingies!” He pointed at the bag like he was five.

She shook her head. “You’re the same guy from earlier, aren’t you? The one who had to be carried out by a bunch of college kids?” 

“So? This one’s just for the road!” 

“It’s illegal to drink and drive.” 

“Come on. It’s a free country!” 

“You’re smashed, sir, with all due respect.” 

“Smashed, huh?” That amused him. “...I know who _I’d_ smash if I could.” 

She began to look more nervous. Why? He wasn’t an intimidating guy, was he? “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

“Just shut up and take my money.” 

“No. You can come back tomorrow if you’re craving it that badly. I am not legally required to serve you after hours.” 

He stood still for a minute, unsure of what to do. 

When in doubt, do what feels right. 

And what felt right to him was to snatch a bottle from her bag and throw the bill on the ground for her as payment, proceeding to run the hell away. 

“Hey!” she shouted from farther and farther away. “You can’t just… _do_ that! What's wrong with you?” 

He ran until she gave up and got into her car. Once she drove away, he sank down to the curb, practically ripped open the cap with his thumbnail, and immediately swallowed a satisfying amount, feeling the warmth sink straight down and spread throughout his body like a hug. He already felt himself relax. 

If he really couldn’t trust Sam, who else could he turn to? His sister, sure, but there was always something dividing them, big or small. She’d betrayed him before, too. Who hadn’t by this point? Every day felt like a lifelong Halloween party surrounded by everyone in masks, with him being the only exception. An entertaining life, sure, but you could never really tell who was behind them, and after a while, the games became boring at best and tedious at worst. 

Well. If he was going to be trapped in this hellhole of a broken mind forever, why not find someone with the most enticing mask? The one that clearly had a lot of time put into it. The authentic one with spray paint and sequence. Beautiful and terrifying, all at once. The one who deserved the most candy.

He felt around his pocket--after accidentally grabbing his own ass first--and pulled out the written address he had copied from those documents. He knew this would come in handy one day. Not at all for the reason he was going now, but what the hell? 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fuck it. Fuck it all.

If only he hadn’t done it. Any of it. 

It hadn’t gotten him anywhere, anyway, unless he took into account a weekly existential crisis and a broken heart. 

But he couldn’t wallow in self-pity forever, right?

That’s what Mark had called it, anyway. A “pity party,” to be specific. 

The guy wouldn’t even take his apology. He’d finally worked up the balls to say sorry, and the fucker pushed it away. 

He wasn’t interested. Huh. That was fine. Not like he needed Mark, anyway. 

He never needed anyone for long.

Damien rubbed more tears from his sweating face and resisted the urge to claw his own eyes out. 

He didn’t want to see himself anymore. He didn’t want to see the face that had single-handedly destroyed and created him.

Who was he? 

God dammit, no. Not again.

He was stupid to try to see him again. Chloe was right, as much as hearing her in his head felt like a fork scratching porcelain. ‘ _Some people grow up, Damien. You should try it sometime.’_

The last of the bourbon rested cooly in a wine glass on the kitchen counter. He debated with himself about using it for another time--a worse, more desperate time, perhaps. 

But what even mattered anymore? Had anything mattered in the first place? Where was the line between crumbled pieces of life worth living and a ton of bullshit stacked on stacks and stacks of more bullshit?

Was there even an end? And how did people deal with it? 

At least he had something useful to play with for a while, to keep him going. 

But this just left him in a state of unrest. He couldn’t relax, or read, or pretend that he didn’t want to hang himself every time he looked at his phone and saw nothing. 

No friends, no colleagues, no coworkers. He hadn’t gone to college, he never needed a job, and he... wasn’t fit for friends, either, apparently. 

Nope. Because all he did was use people, _apparently_. And he _apparently_ didn’t know the first thing about social interaction even though he had spent his entire life just talking his way in and out of things that he did or didn’t want to be a part of. But no. _Apparently_ , he just wasn’t good enough for anyone or for any goddamn thing. Ever. 

But Mark wouldn’t lie to him. He just wasn’t… like that. He told the truth, even if it hurt. Even when his ability had been affecting him. 

He thought again about what the Doc had said one time. ‘ _Just because he wouldn’t step over your corpse on the street, doesn’t mean he cares.’_

She really was a conniving little bitch, wasn’t she? Convincing him to put his trust in her over and over again, even though she sold him out to Green over a year ago. That’s when he first realized that she needed to know what he was capable of. That he wasn’t someone to be stepped on. That it wasn’t his fault for being like this, and that she ought to help him out for once or stay out of his way. 

But it didn’t happen. 

All this power he had that was destroyed by other special people. Special people that he wanted to connect with from the very beginning. 

Special people that turned him away the moment he so much as tried to put in effort. 

Sure, he also wanted to get more information from them… which was the main reason why he wanted to talk to them in the first place… and they didn’t really seem to pique his interest otherwise… 

And sure. Chloe had apologized for judging him. And Dr. B hadn’t been very proud of selling him out to the AM. 

But… they still weren’t… 

They weren’t…?

A splitting headache from earlier reemerged, and he couldn’t concentrate anymore. 

Maybe that was for the best. The deeper he looked inside of himself, the shittier he felt. And god knows he was already feeling pretty shitty, considering that a power he had thought was the coolest thing in the world as a kid had turned out to betray him, worse yet by leaving from a blow to the head and abandoning him just like _good ol’ Mom and--_!

Christ. He needed that bourbon. He’d already had a bunch half an hour ago, but the craving came back stronger. 

The worst part was that he still hated the taste. Yet he drank it all, and didn’t vomit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a good thing that Damien’s new place had a doorbell. Mark wasn’t sure he had the strength to knock. 

He rang it once. Waited a few minutes. Rang again. And again. And-- 

“Sure, sure! Suck my dick and rob me, why don’t ya?” shouted a familiar muffled voice from inside. “Three in the goddamn morning,” he muttered before opening the door. “ _What?_ ”

Mark did nothing but stare, too caught in a bittersweet haze to think. The glow from inside Damien’s house cast a cold, haunting contrast on his figure from the back. He didn’t even seem to belong there. 

What a perfect photograph. 

Neither of them spoke a word for at least two minutes. 

“Mark?” His voice sounded so far away. It cracked a bit. Mark could tell he was holding back a smile. 

“Yeah?” The wind blew around them, and it made the moment feel almost magical. 

More silence. Then, “You’re drunk, too, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah.” He looked down at his shoes. “Guess you were right about me, after all.” 

“No, I wasn’t. I’m... still not.” The way he looked at Mark reminded him of Sam a bit. 

He didn’t have the energy to think about her right now. 

It was easier to fall back on something more well-known and predictable. 

Someone he at least _knew_ he couldn’t trust. There was a weird amount of security in that. “Thank you,” was all he could manage. 

“Uh… Yeah. Sure.” 

What a horribly fucked-up thing to do. And how terribly good it felt. 

Mark should have felt afraid, or at least angry, And maybe he did, in bits and pieces. But the whiskey had washed most of it away. 

He remembered when his parents would make him and Joanie go to church every Sunday morning. The priest would take this big bucket of what they called “holy water” and fling it all over the crowd with a golden soup ladle before starting the service.

God, religion was weird. 

But he remembered one specific time when the preacher went into the concept of holy water. How he made sure it was “pure enough to rid the room of demonic entities,” and how it was supposed to symbolize the purity of Jesus Christ “washing away” everybody’s sins. 

That’s how it felt, the drinking. Like everything was cleansed in the dirtiest possible way. Like it was all gone with a few good swigs, and he could just enjoy his past when nothing went too wrong. Before the AM. Before college. Before high school, even, when his parents had actually treated him like a human equal. 

Back when everyone had. 

“Are… we just going to stand here, or are you going to come in and tell me off some more?” When Mark didn’t answer, Damien mumbled, “There’s a nice fireplace that I’ve been taking advantage of.” 

Mark snapped out of his trance. “Huh?” 

Damien gestured inside with a snort. “You’re not even wearing a jacket. Come on.” 

Mark nodded slowly and followed his ex-captor like a sailor to a siren. 

It was so cold inside, despite the light. Colder than outside. It was May, sure, but that didn’t mean shit anymore. It had just frosted that morning back East.

“This way.” Damien clumsily tugged Mark by the wrist and lead him downstairs to what looked like a study. 

There was the fireplace, as promised, which explained why it was so much warmer down there. 

“You can just sit down… anywhere,” added Damien, flinging his hand vaguely. 

Mark chose the couch closest to the mantle and didn’t say a word. He heard shuffling behind him--cabinets opening and closing, footsteps, etc. He didn’t bother to check. All he wanted was that spot by the fire. Damien could have come behind him with an ax for all he cared. His emotions were in shambles, and he didn’t bother to sort them out. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Funny how easily you could die in a living room,” called Damien, in search for a decent blanket, “especially when there aren’t any other guests.” He chuckled a bit to himself from the irony. 

“Are you threatening me?” 

_It was about me_ , he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. He’d done it too much. Besides, the right words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. “That’s not what I… Oh my god, I-” 

“It’s fine. Just tell me what’s been going on or something.” 

He found the one he’d been looking for: a large, thick, fluffy, white one with black hemming. 

He was going to toss it at him until he considered everything he’d done up until this point. It had all been the same. Just by them meeting up again, their dynamic was the same. And if Damien was doing the same thing, that also meant that Mark would be pissed at him for this later. 

He had to do things differently this time, if only to prove that he was at least a little better than when they had last talked. 

And that’s why he walked up to Mark and gently draped it over his body. For a second, he wanted to plant a small kiss on his forehead. He shook the thought away, wanting to laugh at himself, but found that he didn’t have the courage. 

“Oh, just… Nothing special. You know. Livin’ life like a normie.” 

“Yeah?” Mark sounded so… weary. Everything he said made Damien feel all the more uncomfortable. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. A little bit of normal, you know? Just a little bit. A time where I could focus on normal-people problems, like bills or bitchy bosses or whatever.” 

“I mean… I haven’t experienced all that just yet. Still getting on my feet.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

He felt a surge of frustration in his chest. “Hey, I’m not the one who took a drunken midnight stroll to their worst enemy’s secret hideout.” 

“You’re not my worst enemy, Damien. Don’t go around thinking you’re _that_ special.” 

“Wadsworth’s got the premium backstage pass, then?” 

“Ugh. Don’t even mention her,” Mark grumbled. 

“Right, right… Sorry.” 

“It’s fine. At least you apologized.” 

“Yeah.” He felt a small smile creep onto his face. “I guess I did.” 

“Don’t get too full of yourself. There’s a lot more to having a good life than saying sorry.” 

Damien couldn’t even say anything back, not only because he knew that it was true, deep down, but also because it hurt so goddamn much to hear it from Mark’s mouth. 

But that’s what Mark was all about, right? 

He took the liberty of sitting on the same couch, hoping that Mark wouldn’t instinctively shrink away. 

He didn’t.

He instead stared into the fire with a blank expression. That’s when Damien noticed that tears were falling from his face. “Hey,” he said softly. “What’s the matter, huh? What are you doing here?” 

It took a minute for Mark to answer. “I don’t know.” He sniffed. “I don’t fucking know. I’m so wasted and confused and fucked up, and I just want someone to trust again. Someone I can count on. And don’t try to step in and act like you’re the one, Damien, because we both know that isn’t true.” 

It stung. But Damien almost wanted more. The raw truth, without feeling the need to hide from it or cover it up. There wasn’t a point anymore, he realized. “What about that girl of yo--Sam?” he asked, catching himself. 

“Sam isn’t… She’s… Oh my god, what am I doing?” 

“No, wait!” Damien began panicking when Mark stood from the couch. “Please, just… sit back down. We don’t have to talk about her if you don’t want to.” 

Mark gave him a look of confusion and fear. “That’s… new.” 

“Well… yeah. Guess you could say I took some of your advice to heart.” 

“So, are you telling me that I can’t even rely on you to be shitty to me? Has the entire world fallen into a black hole?” 

“Are you telling me that I can’t do anything right no matter _what_ I try?” 

“...No. I’m sorry. That’s not… I just…” He sat back down and covered his face with his hands. “I just want to feel safe again. I hate feeling like everything is somehow wrong now, and I can’t turn it back to the way it was. It’ll never be. You can’t fix a cracked lens.” 

Okay. Metaphors. He could work with metaphors. “But… you can always get a new one. A… better one.” 

“But it just takes so much time. It’s like it’s not even worth it anymore. Like nothing ever mattered, especially-” 

“If you were going to end up this way all along,” Damien finished. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mark looked up at him in disbelief. “How…?”

“You really do know what it’s like.” 

Mark broke down again, unable to stop himself. “...God, I just… I just want to burn.” And with that, he purposefully fell from the sofa towards the flames. 

Damien grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him back up.

“Asshole.” Force for good or evil, Damien was always someone against him, pretending to be with him. Or was that just what the drink said? Or did it matter?

Damien pulled him into a firm hug and didn’t let go until they both calmed down. 

“You’re shaking,” noted Mark. 

“Yeah. Can you blame me? You kind of just tried to off yourself right in front of me.” 

“Oh. Sorry. Guess I’ll wait until you’re out of the room next time.” 

“It’s not fucking funny!”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh. I’m drunk.” 

“And that wouldn’t have been the best way to go out, either. People would think that I murdered you.” 

Mark growled under his breath. “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?” 

“I thought we’d been over this. I’m the selfish prick who doesn’t get the guy, and you’re the sparkling Disney princess who lives happily ever after.” 

“Doesn’t look like it.” 

“Not yet.” 

“...Can you let go of me, now?” 

Damien begrudgingly sat up straight. “Fine.” 

More uncomfortable silence. 

“Well,” said Damien suddenly, making Mark jump, “I think we can all agree that you coming here was a huge mistake.” 

“‘All’?” 

“You, me, and the empty sheets between us,” he muttered. “You gonna go now, or…?” 

“I should. I know that. This is something terrible that I’ll regret in the morning. But I want to try something, first.” 

“Huh?” 

Mark stood up from the couch and looked Damien in the eye. It was now or never. “I want to try to get your power back.” 

Damien looked speechless. 

But before he could stutter anything in response, Mark made sure to add, “Yes, I’m serious. No, this isn’t a trap. And it’s because I feel bad, and you’re far away now, and if you try anything, Sam could tell Wadsworth exactly where you are.” 

“You… _can’t_ be serious. You want to give me back the thing that--?” 

“I know! I know, okay? I’m dumb for wanting to do this. But the guilt’s been eating me alive, and I can’t fucking take it anymore.” 

“It wasn’t even your fault--” 

“I don’t care. Now shut up and listen to me.” He made sure to stand tall, towering down over Damien. If this was really going to work, he needed to think of every move--which wasn’t easy, given his current state, but he didn’t have much of a choice. 

“O...kay?” 

“Good. Now say something to piss me off.” 

“I… What?” 

One of Mark’s favorite things about Damien was his confusion. Even when he said something so simple and riddled with common sense, this poor shell of a man had absolutely no clue. It felt… empowering, almost. Like he had the authority to teach Damien what he wanted him to know. It wasn’t entirely his fault, anyway; he wouldn’t listen to anyone else. “You heard me. Piss me off. I know what I’m doing.” 

“Uh…” He was used to Damien looking nervous, but this was a step up from that. He seemed… genuinely concerned. “Are you sure? You said yourself that you were pretty drunk.” 

“Damien, for the love of everything that distracts me from my ongoing misery, just do what you do best.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It stung again. Damien wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it. But he had nothing better to do now or later, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “I touch myself when I think about your sister.” 

Mark’s expression changed almost immediately, somewhere between insurmountable shock, disgust, and anger. “Jesus. _Fucking_ Christ, Damien. Not that much!” 

“What, are we measuring my answers, somehow? Would a pie chart help with that?” 

“That’s not even how pie charts work, dumbass!” 

“Well, allow me to offer a more suitable answer. While we’re on the subject!” He knew he’d regret it later before it even came out of his mouth, but there wasn’t a thing to lose. Mark would leave the next morning and probably not even remember. “Wadsworth turns me on.” 

He was almost afraid that Mark would straight-up lunge and strangle him. “Are all of your secrets weirdly sexual in nature?” 

Damien shrugged, casually wiping the sweat away from his neck from the heat of the fireplace. “Not all of them.” 

“Then pick a different category. And _don’t mention her again,_ ” he yelled through his teeth. 

“Oh, you don’t want me to mention how I think the woman who tortured you for a few good years of your young adult life is sexy as hell?” 

“Damien, I’m warning you.” 

He could only laugh. “What are you going to do? My life’s not of any value to anyone. Hell, maybe that’s why you’re tempted. There’d be no consequences. You could physically shove me into those flames, and it would easily look like an accident. Well, I mean, fingerprints exist, and the AM probably has them, but that’s what disposable gloves are for! There’s a whole box of them under the kitchen sink. You could burn them, too. Or, hell, take ‘em with you. Think of them as a nice souvenir. I’ve used some to whack off to your pictures on Facebook. And Wadsworth’s, too. Have I mentioned that I invited her to do me when I was handcuffed to the bed at the AM? I like when a gal takes charge.” 

Holy shit. He had never seen Mark so angry in his life. “Stop. Crying. You miserable fuck.” 

“Hah, I’m not crying!” 

“Yes you are, dipshit. You’re probably too wasted to tell.” 

Damien felt his face. Mark was right. “What’s your goal in all this, huh? You want me to talk just to make me feel worse about myself? Is that it, huh?” 

“God, you’re so _selfish_.” Shit, shit, _shit_. “You know what needs to happen with brats like you?” 

Damien was about to answer, but the sweating was everywhere now, like he was about to leave his own body. Blackness devoured him, and he was nothing. “Mark, wait.” 

“Have a nice nap.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mark had him now. He closed his eyes and felt his mind grow stronger, like a drug, as he felt Damien’s flip to the opposite. 

He waited a few moments, and then slapped Damien hard across the face. 

There was that confusion again. It was horribly breathtaking. “Mark! What just--What?” 

Mark couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “Remember the time I took your ability by accident because I was so against what you were saying? The day I made us leave the last motel?” 

“Yeah…?” 

“It worked again. Notice how you’re feeling?” 

“Not much better than before,” he mumbled. 

“Really? You don’t remember this?” 

“Yes, of _course_ I remember it. I just don’t want to think about it.” 

“Oh. That’s… interesting.” Mark began to pace around him.

“Why?”

“Well, there had to have been some part of you that… liked it.” 

“...Are you joking?” 

“Nope. There was a small part of you that enjoyed when I ordered you around.” 

“You’re saying that like it’s a fact.” 

“It is. I saw you sneak smiles at me when I made you eat or shower. You like knowing that someone cares enough to make you follow their rules.” 

“Bite me,” he mumbled. “I’ve never liked rules.” 

“Not when they weren’t in your favor.” Mark leaned in close and stared him directly in those lost, haunted eyes. “But deep down, you knew that I was taking care of you. And while I didn’t like doing it morally speaking,” he continued, patiently reaching down and gripping Damien’s thigh, “there was a small part of _me_ that enjoyed it, too.” 

“You’re… not still angry?” Damien asked, his voice light and helpless. 

Mark picked up Damien’s right hand and slowly brought his lips to the knuckles, kissing each one individually. “Oh, I’m furious.” He leaned in until their noses were practically touching and put his arms around Damien’s quivering frame. “But that doesn’t mean the energy can’t be put to good use. And the same goes with you.” 

And with that, he closed the distance between them and pulled Damien into a French, pressing his body onto the latter’s. 

Damien’s pathetic little heart was beating so fast. 

Mark knew better than to let it stop there. “Lift up your shirt and expose your neck,” he said, nipping his right ear. 

No hesitation. No protests. Damien did as he was told. 

He slid his arms along Damien’s chest until both were up his sleeves so that his arms were completely at Mark’s whim, which Mark used to his advantage by lifting both pairs above and behind Damien’s head, scattering gentle kisses along his bare chest and throat. 

Damien was still shaking. He was definitely holding something back. 

“Embarrassed to moan?” 

“No,” Damien muttered, trying to close his legs. 

“Be honest from here on out,” he commanded. 

“Yes.” 

“Don’t be. Let it out if you need to.” 

“Okay.” 

“You want to go farther than this, don’t you?” 

“...Yes.” 

“And you want me to take full control?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And you’re loving every second?” 

“Mhm,” Damien whimpered. 

“That’s what I figured.” 

Damien didn’t resist once when Mark began to tug at his waistline. 

“Jesus. Is this Gucci Platinum? Where did you get this belt?” He knew Damien wouldn’t be able to answer in this state, which turned him on for some reason. Probably because he was so lost in what Mark was giving him that he couldn’t even focus. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damien was so lost in what Mark was giving him that he couldn’t even focus. Mark was on _him._ Him, of all people. On his body, his arms, his face, his legs, goddamn everywhere. Mark’s pupils reminded him of a shark when there was blood, and holy shit, he wanted more. He wanted it so badly that it gave him headaches. He didn’t even have the strength to speak. He just wanted whatever Mark wanted. 

...Wait a minute. 

“How are you doing this?” he finally managed to push out. 

Mark smiled again. “I brought up the time you first lost your power for a reason.” 

Fear and pleasure blended in his stomach, and Damien was engulfed by a sickly numb warmth. 

“You can trust me, Damien. I’m not the filthy liar here.” 

He felt Mark peck along his jawline, and the fear melted away. He no longer cared. He didn’t have to think. Mark was doing that for him. 

It was better this way. 

“Mark…” 

Mark shushed him. “You need to focus on your breathing.” 

And so he did. 

“And spread your legs wider.” 

He did. “Oh, god…” 

“Did I give you permission to talk, Damien?” 

“No.” 

“Are you going to shut up now?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

Things escalated from there. Damien’s whole body was soon flooded with waves of surging ecstasy. He squirmed, the pleasure almost tormenting. The light of the fireplace grew, then shrank, and grew brighter in a rhythmic pattern that seemed to dance around his vision. 

Mark’s breath came quicker, and he fervently sank his teeth into Damien’s neck again, nuzzling it at times. 

The stimulation was throbbing around his skin from every direction, and he could feel his consciousness slipping away. Clothes came off, hands were petting and stroking and scratching every piece of him, and Mark’s lips were softer than the finest linen.

There came a time when he forgot that he was in his own house, or that time existed, or that he had any problems at all. Mark was where they were. It was goddamn Mark O’Clock. Mark was his most nightmarish problem and his favorite solution. 

Mark was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that must have kept him alive all this time. He knew that was something Dr. B would have deemed “unhealthy,” but she didn’t exist now, did she? 

Damien didn’t exist, either. 

It was only Mark. 

And he was there to please him. It was all he’d ever wanted. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mark didn’t even think Damien knew he was moaning and gasping for air left and right. He seemed spaced out or something. 

Well, that was just fine with Mark. That meant he was enjoying it, right? 

~~~ 

Sunlight pried open Mark’s eyes, and he found himself snuggled with Damien, their bodies perfectly aligned with each other. 

And they were both undressed. 

Mark screamed. 

~~~ 

Sunlight pried open Mark’s eyes, and he found himself sweating on Rose’s couch. 

“Uh… Hey, there… sleepyhead,” called Rose from above him. “You didn’t sneak out last night, did you?” 

He squinted, the sun blinding him. Rude-ass awakening. “No? Why?” 

“The front door was unlocked, and you aren’t sleeping upstairs where we left you.” 

Mark tried to recall anything from last night. He remembered meeting up with Rose to get away from it all. From Sam when he found out she called Damien.

God. How could she do something like that? Contact him after everything that guy had done? It made him sick to think about. 

“Hello…?” 

“Sorry... Maybe I did, but… I don’t remember a thing.” 

“What’s the very _very_ last thing you remember?” 

“I was… taking shots at St. Barbara’s.” 

“And?” 

“I said… ‘Shots are all on me, even though I have no money. Let’s just pretend and call it a night!’ That’s a clear memory, at least, and it’s probably just there because my brain wants me to remember how stupid I sounded.” 

Rose nodded. “You did sound pretty ridiculous. I can’t imagine what you did when you were my age.” 

Mark shot her a glare. It hurt to move his face.

“No offense. Anyway, your phone was blowing up with voicemails last night, but I couldn’t unlock it. There were two from Dr. Bright, one from Sam, one from a guy named Frank-” 

“Oh... _shit_.” 

“Uh… yeah. Something tells me you won’t be going home to a surprise party.” 

“I’d hope not. ‘Congratulations, Mark! You’re officially the fuckiest fuck-up that ever fucked… up.’” 

“Mark…” 

“Besides, the shouting would probably give me a migraine if my head hurts this badly now.” 

“Should I… get you some water?” 

Mark nodded. “That’d be the best course of action.” 

“Hey, there’s no need to get all sarcastic with me.” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“It’s fine, um… My mom made pancakes if you’re hungry.” 

“God, yes. I’m starving. Sorry. Not trying to sound too... commanding or anything.” 

She giggled. “You don’t sound like that at all. God. How many different types of drinks did you _have_ last night?” 

“More than enough for a lifetime. You know… until this afternoon.” 

“Mark…” 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Take a joke! Sorry… I keep forgetting how young you are.” 

“Well, apparently, I’m old enough to drag a passed-out Mark home.” 

“I’m… so… unbelievably sorry. Like, about everything.” 

“No, _I’m_ sorry. It was stupid of me to invite you to a place where I knew there’d be alcohol. And the whole dreamwalking thing--” 

Mark shook his head. “Nope. You don’t get to do that. You can’t blame yourself for what happened. Well, for the first thing, anyway. I was supposed to be the responsible adult, here--” 

“I’m nineteen-!” 

“-And _I_ was acting more like the college student. I shouldn’t have put you through that, Rose.” 

“Well… yeah. I agree with that. And I forgive you, or… whatever. Just come to the kitchen when you’re ready and try to make the best of it, you know?” 

“Yeah.” Mark rolled over in the direction of the cushion, trying not to feel like he’d been socked in the gut fifteen times. “Could you… close the blinds of that window over there? I think I just need to close my eyes and think for a bit. You know, before I have to face everything.” 

“Sure. Feel better, Mark.” 

“Thanks. Oh, and... Rose?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you know where my shirt went?” 

“Not a clue.” 

“Damn it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What a wonderful dream. 

Normally, when Damien woke up from dreams that were better than reality (which happened a lot), he’d drown himself in Ramen and _The Children of Húrin_ again until it hurt less. 

But this one was different. 

It was so good that it carried into the waking world, and he just… couldn’t stop smiling. 

Something was definitely off. 

But what did he care? He hadn’t felt this good since he had his ability. 

Maybe Rose came to her senses and decided to send her weird version of an apology. 

But she knew nothing of where he lived now. Her range wasn’t close enough.

His head felt strange, too… aside from the hangover. Almost like… 

No. He was getting his hopes up, now. _Just enjoy the dream for what it was._

The bourbon was gone. He really drank the entire bottle by himself. Could his life _be_ more pathetic if he tried? 

The dream. That’s what mattered right now. Enjoying something in the moment. 

He stood up from the couch and felt his foot touch something soft. He picked it up and found it to be a shirt. That part made sense; he wasn’t wearing one. 

Or anything, for that matter. 

That confirms it. Best dream he’d ever had in his life. He knew he ought to write it down. 

But the shirt didn’t look like anything he owned. He examined it closer. It smelled like… 

“...Oh my god.” 

_Mark won’t tell anyone. It’d only put him in hot water with Sam._ This would be their little secret, he decided.

Mark had blocked his number a month or so ago. Damien tried calling. Still blocked. 

He already promised not to see him again. 

And if Mark didn’t remember, well… At least he would have peace of mind. 


End file.
